What Lies Beneath
by LaiksMarei
Summary: Individuals are made up of contrary emotions and desires: some good, some evil, some light, some dark. When Hermione unexpectedly encounters someone from her past, she beings to discover things aren’t exactly as they appear.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** Many thanks to ubiquirk and DeeMichelle for beta reading and Saracen77 for Brit-picking. This story contains some DH spoilers.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, no money.

* * *

Hermione wiped away the beads of sweat forming on her brow and surveyed the second-floor room that had, on more than one occasion, been her sanctuary, careful to make certain she would leave none of her possessions behind. Very soon, she had a Portkey to catch, and it wouldn't do for her to miss it as Arthur—he'd _insisted_ she stop calling him Mr Weasley; she was practically family, after all—had seen to the arrangements personally.

_Portkey._ The mere thought of the word made Hermione's stomach lurch and roil in dreaded anticipation of the jerking sensation that accompanied that particular mode of travel, her mind conjuring images of her Quidditch World Cup journey specifically.

_Tick-tock, Granger. Best not dawdle with yet another stroll down memory lane; it's time for goodbyes._ Hermione gave a combination sniff-sigh at her inner-taskmaster and shook her head to cleanse her mental palate. Taking one last misty-eyed look, she slowly backed from the room and closed the door with a soft _snick_.

"All packed then?"

Hermione started at the voice, but then smiled to herself, pleased that he would come _here_ of all places—he held it slightly above Hades and his childhood home as the worst place in existence—to see her off.

She turned to face the prickly Potions professor currently interloping in the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, a smirk lurking beneath her impassive countenance. "Fancy meeting you here."

The typically dour man's scowl was replaced by an expression of incredulity. "You've got a bloody cheek!"

Hermione pressed the jagged edges of her half-bitten fingernails into the flesh of her palms to suppress the laughter that threatened to flood her voice, only just managing to succeed. "Who, me?"

Professor Snape's gaze tightened, and Hermione imagined its fierce quality could pierce the toughest of flesh and strongest of bone.

"One would think a certain know-it-all would be immensely appreciative that someone cared enough to make sure Messers Potter and Weasley hadn't shut away the Gryffindor Princess in some dank, smelly room of the Black family hovel to keep her from escaping the wonder that is Wizarding Britain."

Hermione rolled her eyes and dramatically clutched her chest nearest to her heart. "Oh, black knight in drab armour, perish the thought!"

"Be glad you aren't in school any longer, young lady, else your house would be twenty-five points lighter and you'd find yourself assigned a rather nasty detention."

"School's definitely out, sir. Thank deity for _that_."

Professor Snape harrumphed and mumbled something that vaguely resembled 'why do I bother at all' when his off-putting demeanour unexpectedly changed, the seemingly permanent frown lines of his face relaxing while his onyx eyes rounded with softness. "Regardless of what _others_ may say," his voice hardened a touch at the not-so-subtle reference to Professor McGonagall and Mrs Weasley's efforts to dissuade Hermione from her transcontinental move, "I think your relocating to Australia is a solid idea, and I have no doubt you will flourish there, just as you did here."

His rare praise caused Hermione's cheeks to suffuse with warmth, but she didn't dare speak for fear she would do him an injustice should she prattle or her voice shake. She settled instead for a warm smile and a grateful but contemplative tilt of her head.

Professor Snape held her eyes for the briefest of moments. "I'll see you when I see you," he whispered perceptively and disappeared from her view into the blackness of the portrait's background.

She didn't have time to dwell on the obviously deeper meaning behind their exchange as Ron and Harry's bellowing for her floated up from the kitchen.

"Oi! Get down here, woman!"

Hermione raced down the flights of stairs, mindful to slow whilst descending the narrow stone set that led to the basement and kitchen. When she entered the cavernous room, she ducked to avoid the iron pots and pans that hung from the ceiling rack and joined her two best mates at the long wooden bench.

Harry reached across the expansive table and hefted Hermione's beaded bag from her hands, giving it a playful shake. "Sure you've got everything in there? I think you might have missed a SPEW hat or three. If you give me a tick, I might be able to scrounge up a 'Potter Stinks' badge for old time sake."

Hermione stuck out her tongue, snatched the bag back from him and opened it, checking to see that Harry hadn't mucked the arrangement of her things too terribly much. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Very funny, you no-good prat." She slapped away his hands when tried to poke at the bulging exterior of the bag. "You needn't worry; it's all here. I made sure to go from room to room here and at my parents' old place. You know how I like to be thorough."

Harry and Ron eyed one another then flashed Hermione twin knowing smirks.

"Besides, can't have you two coming across any of my smelly old socks or, worse, a pair of racy knickers."

The words racy, knickers and Hermione in the same sentence appeared to nearly do Harry in. His face turned an interesting shade of puce, and Hermione imagined his vigorous head shaking was his attempt to escape an onslaught of inappropriate visuals before he decided a divot in the table's wood warranted closer inspection.

Hermione's knickers comment didn't appear to affect Ron in the slightest. Instead, he jerked his thumb in Hermione's direction and scoffed. "Thorough she says. Obsessive's more like it. I'd be willing to bet a couple of Galleons she has a chart of its contents categorized, labelled and cross-referenced for her convenience."

Harry looked up, careful to avoid direct eye contact with Hermione, and waved off. "Sorry, mate. That action's no good. No one in their right mind would bet against Hermione's penchant for organisation."

Hermione's petulance was unmistakable. "Shut it, you two. I didn't come down here to be the butt end of your last-minute jokes."

She watched Harry and Ron's faces suddenly sober as realisation set in that their long-time friend was _really_ leaving for good. Wanting to not waste the precious few moments they had left, each of the men captured one of her hands in their own and squeezed affectionately.

Harry's voice was thick with emotion. "You'll always have a home here, Hermione. Remember that when things seem completely out of sorts or you just need a quick holiday. I'm only a coin message away," he said, his voice cracking, and with his free hand, he pulled his DA coin from his trouser pocket.

Unexpected tears of thanks filled Hermione's eyes as she pulled her hands from theirs and produced her matching coin as well.

"And I promise to write every week," Ron chimed in for good measure.

Hermione bared her teeth in a shark-like grin and couldn't resist taking the piss with the opportunity Ron provided. "Better be careful. Lav-Lav might get jealous and think you're trying to romance me back on English soil."

Harry winced at her rebuke, drawing his shoulders tightly and hissing inwardly though his teeth. The air was heavy with accusation, and he looked to be waiting for the inevitable war of words, eyes darting frantically back and forth between the former bedfellows.

Fully expecting Ron to throw a wobbly, she was surprised when he didn't swallow the bait, hook, line and sinker. "Still sore over it all, yeah?"

She closed her eyes, chewed the inside of her cheek and debated whether to deliver a cutting retort or reply honestly. As this would be their last moments together for a while, the truth won out. "It stings a bit," she raised a hand to forestall any forthcoming explanation from him, "but things happen for a reason. I'm glad we found out sooner rather than later that we weren't meant to be, and I'm most proud of you for coming direct instead of avoiding the conversation all together."

Ron's sighed, wistfull, heavy. "Good old love-hate. Well, hate mostly. It translated well in the bedroom—beautifully, in fact." Naturally, he waggled his eyebrows. "But in the end, it wasn't enough for either of us to make an honest go of things."

Hermione's tone was a mixture of sadness and relief. "I know, Ron, and I'm honestly not that upset that you've started seeing Lavender again. I don't think you threw me over for her. Besides, she'll be good to you, good for you."

"She's easygoing, less intense and less, erm, complex, not that being with you was ever a chore because it wasn't. But know this, Hermione: I don't regret a single snog or row we ever had, and I would gladly do it all over again so long as we always came out friends in the end."

Hermione reached across the tabletop's length and yanked Ron by his shirtsleeves, pulling him into an intense hug. As Harry was not one to be left out of the thick of things, he threw himself at his two best mates, demanding his share of affection.

The trio laughed, hugged and cried until a soft glow from the counter caught Ron's eye.

"That'd be the Portkey counting down to activation. You've got about a minute and a half. Ready?"

Hermione quickly wiped the tears from each of their faces, lovingly bussed their foreheads and signalled that she was indeed set. She walked over to the counter top to grasp her gateway to a new life and stopped short when she discovered the everyday object Arthur had chosen specifically for her. Hermione's entire body shook as she tightly clutched her sides, barking laughter at his unintentional comedic irony.

"A boomerang? Oh, Ron!"

The redhead's grin was wide. "I know! Harry and George both thought dad was being a bit rich considering all its meanings."

"This is so cheesy, but in the best way. Let him know I loved it, okay."

Both men assured her they would relay the message to Ron's Muggle-loving father as the boomerang started to vibrate and glow brighter as time lessened. The last of the seconds ticked away, and the three of them counted aloud in unison. When one was reached, Hermione gave them both brilliant smiles and winked out of number twelve, Grimmauld Place to her next great adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I am not now, nor have I ever been, mistaken as J. K. Rowling. These are her characters entirely. I make no money from their usage, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes:** An abundance of thanks to ubiquirk and DeeMichelle for beating this into shape, saracen77 for Brit-picking and ozratbag2 for making sure this story stays true to Australia. _Ars Alchemica_ was created by Riley.

The Portkey unceremoniously dumped Hermione behind one of several outbuildings of the Kuranda Railway Station. In the distance, she could hear the gentle rattling of wheels on tracks signalling the arrival of the time-honoured attraction.

Wand drawn close to her body, she cracked open a weary eye—the other still scrunched tight for fear she would be sick—and surveyed the direct area. The high coastal winds washed over her as the oppressive humidity blanketed her skin with a sea of dew, increasing the volume of her already bushy hair. The sun shimmered white hot, filtered by the nearby fan palms of the rainforest village. Satisfied she was in no immediate danger of being discovered, Hermione's shoulders sagged, and her head fell back to rest on the building.

_Breathe in. Breathe out,_ she whispered mentally, her hands cradling her quivering stomach as she fought the urge to draw her knees to her chest and bury her face against them. _Just breathe._

Random thoughts flashed through her head, and she grasped at them to anchor herself from the splish-splosh rocking of her belly, anything to keep her from vomiting all over her new summer dress. This was just one of the many summer dresses Ginny _insisted_ she buy for Hermione to accommodate the Queensland weather—and native men, no doubt. It was annoyingly silly, but the only things she could think of at this moment were that dreadful disaster of a shopping trip her ginger-haired friend had deemed a day of blissful frivolity and a recent article in _The Lancet_ about the mechanics of breathing.

Quite ridiculous really, how the traitorous mind works.

Hermione exhaled deeply through her mouth, a slow slide of determined breath, opened her eyes fully and hauled herself off the lush carpet of green covering the ground. She brushed away a few stray blades from her dress and upon further inspection was _pleased_ to find no staining had occurred. Deity forbid she start thinning her burgeoning wardrobe already.

Hermione tucked her walnut wand into the tapa sheath fastened on her thigh before giving it an affectionate pat and smoothing her dress. Deciding she'd look somewhat strange toting a boomerang, she eased the now defunct Portkey into her beaded bag and snapped the clasp to a close.

She walked to the front of the building and sidestepped her way down the hill, all the while giving the appearance that she belonged and nothing was out of the ordinary. Hardly anyone took notice as platforms one and two pulsated with people waiting to board the trains.

Hermione made her way towards the exit and into town, forgoing the one-way courtesy bus in favour of walking. The streets were made up of long languid hills. Her pace was slow but steady as she took in anything and everything.

Each step was filled with people from all over the world drinking in the Aboriginal culture of the Djabugay people, mesmerised by its majesty and charm. The village was a Mecca for every artist type, and gifted artisans and crafts people occupied any available space they could find whether in a quaint shop or open-air market, crowding them 'til they burst with vibrant colours, melodic sounds and delicious smells, right down to the vivid blue on wood 'Welcome to Kuranda' village sign.

Hermione made the three-quarter kilometre jaunt to her parents' home in just shy of an hour. The place they'd bought was beautiful, and their penned descriptions and still photos didn't quite do it justice.

It had a typical Queenslander look to it, complete with louvered windows and perches to ward off heat and flooding. The veranda was peppered with cane furniture and lanterns, and she could easily picture herself lazing about with her feet propped up, a cool drink in hand as she debated with her mother the effects of genetically modified food on teeth whilst her father dozed the afternoon away.

Hermione's grin was wide when she rushed up the steps to knock excitedly on the lemon meringue-coloured door. Right away, her eagerness became nervous panic at what their reaction to finally seeing her in person would be. Her eyes stung with the burn of unshed, guilt-laden tears, and she blinked rapidly to fend them off. _What if they haven't forgiven me? What if I can never forgive myself?_

Her father interrupted her thoughts by throwing open the door and instantly scooping his wayward daughter into a rib-creaking hug. He whispered words of fatherly affection into her hair, allaying her immediate fears. Her mum was right behind him to assume hugging duty once he relinquished his hold on her, though hers weren't nearly as painful.

Hermione had missed her parents dearly before, during and after the war and was now desperate to make new memories with them to fill the gap of lost time. For so long she had been caught up in the tangled web that was Harry Potter and making the magical world a safe place for her and others like her to exist. She was afraid one more day away from them would mean she'd miss the curve of her parents' cheeks as they slowly lost their supple grace, their chestnut-brown hair entwined with strands of silky grey as gravity and age crept up on them.

Hermione's mum was the first to speak as she ushered her daughter inside. "How's our best girl?"

"Good, tired. Ready for a quick kip once I'm settled."

Hermione's father nodded in agreement; a few winks seemed to be on his agenda, too. "Did you stop to eat in the village on your way in? The food's amazing, and there are so many choices."

"I couldn't be arsed to eat brekkie, not with the time change and heat, but I would love a decent bite later."

Jean Granger huffed and swatted her long-lost daughter on her bottom. "Language, Hermione! Honestly, I shouldn't be surprised at the nasty habits you've no doubt picked up considering all the time you spent with those boys. But still, swearing! You aren't too old to be disciplined, you know."

Hermione snorted, loud and very unladylike, and earned a chortle from her father. "Swearing is just one of the many things I learned from Harry and Ron, Mum. Why, it's practically an art form with the Weasley siblings."

William chose this moment to intervene on his daughter's behalf and herded his wife into the kitchen saying, "Now, now, dear. Our Hermione's only just got here, and already you're starting to hen peck. She's a big girl, Jean."

Hermione looked thankfully to her father's retreating form and headed to the loo before putting away her things and lying down. She was about to pull down her knickers for a pee when the rather outlandish specialty toilet seat caught her attention. Hermione nearly wet herself as she laughed long and hard at the garish aquatic monstrosity.

What could her mother have been thinking? Not only was it a blindingly hideous shade of bluish green, but how was anyone supposed to have a proper sit-down when there were seashells, starfishes and plastic dolphins glued to it? The gaudy picture was only completed by what appeared to be a crappy toilet dolly that fit discreetly over the toilet paper.

Down the hall, she heard her mother squeal with delight that Hermione had found her welcome home present.

Hermione woke from her nap sticky with sweat, the ceiling fan in the room doing little against the humidity. Several Cleansing and Cooling Charms later had her feeling refreshed, invigorated and strangely at ease in her skin. Smoothing down her hair and checking her appearance in a passing mirror, she made her way into the tastefully decorated kitchen where a veritable feast greeted her.

"Hermione, be a dear and pour the Chardy. Your father is garnishing the barramundi now."

Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. The table was lined with richly printed fabrics and delectably exquisite dishes expertly prepared in honour of her homecoming by her loving parents. Hermione couldn't help but wonder what other skills they'd mastered since she'd relocated them here to this tropical utopia. That and what's for pudding, of course.

"Mum, what is all this?"

"We decided to combine lunch and dinner to give you a feel for Kurandan cuisine." Her mum's hand passed over each dish as she named them. "Let's see, there's char-grilled kangaroo sausages—one of your father's favourites—macadamia-crusted barramundi with bush lime and wild berry dipping sauce, mud crab, wattle seed pasta, a chef's salad with lemon myrtle dressing, bush damper with butter and an array of the village's native tropical fruits."

Hermione whistled in appreciation. "Impressive."

"So, daughter of mine, tell me more about what you're doing for work here," her father said as he added a splash of sauce to his sausages for good measure.

After pouring the wine, Hermione sat down to tuck in, providing her father with the requested information in between chews and swallows. "The Magical Tablelands Regional Council contacted the Department of International Magical Cooperation to commission a field study of the didgeridoo and the magic associated with it."

A look of surprise, followed quickly by awe crossed Williams's face. "Really? I'm surprised they'd let you anywhere near a didgeridoo, let alone play one. Well done, you!"

Jean rolled her eyes and muttered what sounded suspiciously like 'men's business' and 'load of bollocks.'

"Specifically, they wanted to know how the Djabugay men use it to alter the makeup of various poisons and venoms, rendering them safe and usable in food and medicine. They chose me to head the research based on my series of Nagini articles in _Ars Alchemica_."

Jean Granger shuddered at the mention of the serpent's name. "Bloody snake! I don't know what possessed you to study that thing, dead or not."

"Mu-um, language …" Hermione's voice lilted with a singsong quality.

Jean had the decency to appear chastened as William patted Hermione's cheek, face alight with affection. "Tell me you won't have to commute to the government offices every day?"

"No, I will be working out of the Australian Venom Zoo and only travelling north quarterly to present my latest findings. And when I do have to go, my Apparition license has transcontinental permission."

"Wonderful! That will give us plenty of time to chat and show you what we've been getting up to."

Hermione's eyes clouded over, and she worked to keep the foreboding lump from rising in her throat at the reminder of their lengthy separation as she nodded and said, "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

Hermione was by far not a morning person, and the time change was definitely wreaking havoc on her sleep patterns. When she wasn't visiting with her parents or taking in the local tourist attractions, Hermione spent the remainder of the weekend tossing and turning. She would wake at the oddest of times only to relegate herself to listening to the nighttime antics of the local fauna as sleep evaded her. Between the possums using the roof as their own slippery dip, the obnoxious croaking of the cane toads and the torrential sheets of bucketing rain, it was a wonder she managed to rest at all. When the moment came for her to climb out of bed and begin her first day of work, not even the prospect of her parents' delicious breakfast could keep her from being a grumpy monkey.

Suitably showered, dressed and fed, Hermione kissed her parents goodbye and began her walk to work. She arrived at the snake and venom park with little fanfare and was rather pleased that a majority of the village's tourists were still snug in bed. Before making her way up the orchid-lined brick path to the entrance, Hermione ducked behind an enormous staghorn fern to once again cast the necessary spells to ensure her physical comfort and hygiene, adding a Linguistics Charm to the mix so she would have no trouble speaking or understanding any of the dialects she might encounter.

Hermione entered the building at half-seven sharp, and a wiry sort of woman with dark wise eyes intercepted her as she crossed the threshold.

"Ms Granger I presume," she said as she extended her hand.

Hermione accepted the proffered hand and shook it firmly but politely. "Yes, and you must be Anna Eglitis."

"That I am. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to our humble establishment."

"I'd hardly call it humble. You and your team of herpetologists have made great strides in the field, and Professor Cann's work with the amethyst python is legendary."

Anna blushed and waved away the compliment for more important matters. "Let's get you settled, shall we?"

Hermione rubbed her hands together in anticipative glee. "Yes, let's."

Anna gave Hermione a rapid-fire tour of the building with a promise of seeing the grounds later before stopping in front of a closed door labelled Research. "There's a meeting at one o'clock today to introduce you to everyone and outline your project. In the interim, we've procured you a desk in one of your colleague's offices until we can make you a space of your own. I hope you don't mind, Ms Granger."

"Please, call me Hermione. And no, I don't mind at all so long as they are tidy and like to remain on task."

Anna agreed with those sentiments and leaned over to grasp the handle, cracking the door open slightly. "Very well, Hermione, but in turn I must insist you call me Anna. And now, I leave you to get yourself sorted until this afternoon. Please feel free to ring my desk should you need anything."

Hermione said her farewell to Anna and entered the office in search of her desk. Unlike the inside of the building itself, the walls of the office were naked instead of lush with brilliant colours.

Ivory walls, white ceiling and a white lino floor. The streams of light flowing through the open window sharpened its paleness, crowding her and momentarily throwing off her balance. She closed her eyes and leaned against a partition dividing the room to gather her bearings, her back uncharacteristically to the door.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

Caught up in controlling her biorhythms and acclimating herself to the blinding blankness of the office, Hermione didn't fully register the click as the handle of the door engaged or the faint whoosh of air as it opened.

"Oh, hullo there. They told me I'd have a new office mate soon, but I didn't realise it would be this week. Had I known, I would've tried harder to make the place presentable." The voice was soft and friendly, chiefly British male with the slightest trace of Aussie inflection.

Not wanting to give the impression she was completely mental on her first day, Hermione stood straight, gathered her wits and whirled around to grace her co-worker with her most winning smile from her arsenal of Gilderoy-esque grins. Her smile immediately faded to open-mouthed, wide-eyed horror as she came face to face with a supposedly dead but very much alive, Cedric Diggory.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: **As always, a bevy of thanks to ubiquirk and DeeMichelle for corrections and concrit and saracen77 for making the story less American.

**Disclaimer:** I am not now, nor have I ever been, mistaken as J. K. Rowling. These are her characters entirely. I make no money from their usage, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Unlike her stunned counterpart, Hermione's brain jolted her into action. Right away, she went on the offensive, giving the Diggory look-alike no time to react. She all but ripped her wand from its sheath and bridged the distance between them in three lightning-quick strides.

Hermione shoved the would-be impostor against the door, causing it to slam shut, her knee strategically pressed hard up against his bollocks, and her wand digging into the flesh of his throat.

"Who are you?" she hissed, tiny bits of spittle flying from her mouth and spraying the man's cheek, eyes forming narrow slits.

He tried to swallow, but the pressure from her wand restricted the movement of his Adam's apple. His voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper when he spoke. "Please, it's not what you—"

"Not what I think?" Hermione's laugh was frigid and hollow as she cut across him and finished his sentence, a thin sheen of sweat forming on her skin from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "You haven't a bloody clue what I think."

The Diggory look-alike's face was ghostly pale, his grey eyes wild with haunted shadows as he seemed to search for the right words.

Hermione continued her verbal assault. "How dare you! Only a complete arsehole would Glamour or Polyjuice himself as a dead war hero. Oh, yes, I knew Cedric Diggory, and he is most certainly deceased."

"Granger … it's still Granger, right? Just let me explain," he pleaded. "It will all make sense when I'm done, I promise."

Her internal battle between instinct and common sense was fierce. She couldn't very well kill or maim the would-be impostor right here without some semblance of the hows and whys, even if this man-woman-person-thing was most likely sick and twisted.

No, she would give the Diggory look-alike the opportunity to speak. If he failed to provide what she considered the correct answers, then she would decide his destiny. "You have less than five seconds to convince me why I shouldn't alert the Council and have you dragged from here kicking and screaming or just take care of matters myself."

The would-be impostor flinched at the latter implication. "You would use an Unforgivable? Here in a public place?"

"I'm a Muggle-born witch. Who said anything about using magic?"

The Diggory look-alike appeared to understand the severity of that statement and nodded. "Any chance we could do this more civilised like? Your wand, amongst other things, is really hurting me."

Hermione took a moment to consider his request. True, their current positions weren't exactly ideal for the inquisition she was about to conduct, but she would need to be careful however she chose to proceed. "You so much as breathe wrong …"

"Noted and understood."

Hermione stepped back from the Diggory look-alike, but the tension in her body didn't lessen in the slightest. The close proximity to him had made her uncomfortable—the skin crawling, hackles-up kind of uncomfortable. Something about this _whatever_ definitely wasn't quite right.

Keeping her eyes trained on him, Hermione began to wave her wand whilst murmuring a series of incantations. After casting the necessary enchantments to ensure their privacy and her safety, Hermione steered her captive to the nearest chair and motioned for him to make with the explanations.

"First and foremost, I am the real Cedric Diggory."

"But he's—you're dead!" Hermione began to gesticulate wildly at the absurdity of his statement, her voice rising to a near-shriek with each word she spoke. "I saw Harry return with your lifeless body with my own eyes. I had to relive that horrible night in the graveyard whenever Harry had a nightmare and needed to talk through it. I even attended your memorial service."

"I heard you were there. My father told me everything when he brought me back."

Hermione gasped at his revelation. "Your father did this?" She shook her head in disbelief, unable to rationalise Cedric's statement against what she thought she knew of Amos Diggory. "He's known for being a straight arrow, a Ministry man through and through. I never would've imagined he'd go that far. Necromancy is an extremely powerful and difficult Dark Art to master."

"No, Granger. My father wasn't _that_ kind of man. He was good and decent, though my death and the war reshaped his priorities and perspective. But I can assure you, he would have never resorted to Necromancy magic under any circumstances."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, sceptical of Cedric's statement considering the elder Diggory had violated the laws of nature to return his son to the land of the living. "You said wasn't, as in past tense."

Sadness flooded Cedric's face, his eyes fluttered closed, his voice strained. "He died not long after."

Hermione felt her heart twinge with sympathy for him. Death was never easy, even for the dead. "I'm sorry to hear that. There's been no word about him back home, just that he'd resigned from the Ministry and gone on indefinite holiday. What of your mother?"

"Father said she wasn't the same after the Third Task and died within a year of moving here."

Though Hermione was no stranger to sacrifice and loss, all this talk of finality made her uneasy. She felt a shift in the conversation's direction was in order. "How did he do it, Cedric? How did he manage to penetrate the fabric of the veil if he didn't employ Necromancy? The most famed witches and wizards have being trying for ages, and every attempt has been unsuccessful."

"The Resurrection Stone," he stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione spluttered and gaped at him, distressed that he knew about the stone. "Impossible! Not only has Harry never spoken of it to anyone other than Ron and me, and we'd never reveal Harry's secrets to anyone, but no one knows where it is or how to wield its power."

"Not at all up to your reputation, Granger; you're nil for three. You, Potter and Weasley each gave full accounts of your time at Hogwarts, the war, your search for the Horcruxes and the Deathly Hallows to someone: my father."

Hermione shook her head vehemently and began to pace the length of the room, though her eyes and wand were fixed on Cedric the entire time. "No … no way would we do that and not remember. Cedric, I've never even had a full conversation with your father. The most words we've exchanged were a few at your service and the occasional pleasantry whenever we passed one another at work."

Cedric reached out to stop her as she passed him but appeared to think better of it, opting instead to drag his hand through his already ruffled hair. "Hermione, none of you are going to remember discussing any of it because my father was an Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries. The entire account is buried deep, locked away in the recesses of your mind."

Hermione stopped dead in front of him, owl-eyed. For a famed know-it-all, the last few days seemed to be overflowing with things about which she didn't know.

Cedric seemed to take pity on her and provided more details. "His position within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was simply a cover. All the Unspeakables have had them for security purposes since Karkaroff named Rookwood as a spy. Now, only the Head Unspeakable and the Minister know all the inner workings of that particular branch."

Hermione's face bloomed into a violent rage, inundated by flashes of hate-filled crimson as she started to visibly shake at the realisation she and her friends had been violated in such a manner. She had a bevy of expletives ready to spew from her mouth when her anger suddenly deflated, leaving her feeling strung out, confused, guilty and with one question at the edge of her conscience.

Was what the Ministry did to her ultimately any different than what she did to her parents?

If Hermione was honest with herself and searched deep enough, the answer was clear: no.

Cedric took advantage of Hermione's internalising and lowered defences and stood before her, reaching to touch her arm as if to offer comfort. "Hermione, they didn't do it to hurt you all. They simply needed to understand the entire chain of events, to make sure it was all truly over and learn from past their mistakes."

"But what if someone uses our testimony to seek out the Hallows for themselves, to exploit them?"

"They won't," he assured her. "No one can access those records except you three, the Minister and my father. And he told me he reported that all the Hallows were destroyed except for Potter's Invisibility Cloak."

Hermione searched Cedric's eyes to gauge his truthfulness. The openness, desperation, humanity—and something slightly indefinable—reflected in his grey orbs seemed to satisfy her momentarily. "I still have so many questions, one of which is still how he did it."

Cedric shrugged his shoulders. "I wish I knew. He would never tell me how he found the stone and unlocked its secrets, no matter how relentlessly I pursued the matter. And I have no memories, no cognitive feelings from the moment I died to when I woke in my father's arms, covered in clumps of dirt and dressed in funeral robes as I drew my first breath."

"It's all black? No life-after-death experience?"

"All black and nothingness, a vast sea of empty."

"Where's the stone now, Cedric?" Hermione took a step back from him, a little unnerved that this living, breathing magical anomaly was touching her.

"Just before my father died, he told me he destroyed it so it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands."

Hermione's voice was shaky as she tried to control her quickly changing range of emotions, unable to continue to meet Cedric's eyes for fear she would break down or lash out. "What gives him the right to decide who is worthy to live again and who isn't, to pick and choose? Many people, including friends and loved ones I considered family, died needlessly because of Voldemort and his followers, cut down before they had the chance to achieve their hopes and dreams. It's not fair! He could have shared that knowledge with Harry, with the world."

He closed the space between them and cautiously cupped the sides of her face, turning her to him. "You're right, it isn't remotely fair, but I can't speak for my father or his motives, save he wanted one last taste of happiness in his life, and I can't change what is done. I wish I had more answers for you, Hermione, but I don't. All I know is that I'm alive, he spent every ounce of gold he had and called in every favour owed to him before he died and that the Resurrection Stone is completely destroyed."

Hermione's entire body sagged, overwhelmed by the unbelievably complex events of the day. She vaguely felt Cedric's hands leave her face in lieu of gripping her shoulders to steer her toward the chair he'd vacated.

"What happens now? Tell me what you're thinking, Hermione."

The silence settled over the room, cold and accusing, broken only by the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance.

Hermione leaned back in the chair and wrapped her arms around her body to anchor herself and stave off the chill that was seeping into her bones. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and practice her breathing exercises, wish everything she'd seen and heard all away, but she knew Cedric was waiting for her ruling concerning his fate. "I—we need to tell Harry and contact the Ministry."

"No!" he protested hotly. "Hermione, I don't think you realise what you're saying. No one from my old life can know I exist, else all my father's sacrifices, everything he's done to protect me, will be for naught."

"Cedric, you can't hide away in this village forever. What's happened to you should be researched, studied and shouted from the hilltops. People need to know."

It was Cedric's turn to laugh bitterly. "You don't get it, do you? If the Ministry finds out I'm alive, one of two things will happen. They will perform countless experiments on me until either their curiosity is satisfied or my existence is no longer useful to them and they order me killed, or they will consider me a Dark creature the likes of Inferi and order me killed. See a pattern developing here?"

Hermione found the sudden edge in the normally easygoing man's voice unsettling and shivered. "They wouldn't, would they? The Ministry's a lot different since Fudge and Scrimgeour."

"So naive. You, of all people, should know that most seek to destroy what they fear or don't understand. Even I don't know what I am, if I'm normal and safe for the good of society."

Hermione's initial response died on her lips as a sharp knock on the office door interrupted them. She quickly flicked her wand to cancel all the charms from earlier. An unknown passer-by poked his head in to remind the two of them of the meeting after lunch and then pulled the door closed once more.

Cedric knelt down in front of her and rested his hands on her knees. "Please, Hermione. Please tell me you'll keep my secret. I'm not ready to die again."

The warmth of his large hands spread over her skin, making it prickle with a mixture of fear and excitement. Hermione had had many secrets in her life, but this was by far one of the biggest and most dangerous.

Deciding that her chance encounter with Cedric Diggory must be a part of her great, new adventure, Hermione made up her mind. "Yes, Cedric Diggory, I will keep your secret."


End file.
